Take a gander, take a look

At that hoary willow by the brook

His gnarled trunk with age is stooping

Tired switches always drooping

Stroking the laughing stream below

Asking the tireless youngster to slow

To stop and rest beneath his limbs

Not to flutter off on petty whims

But that silly brook, it babbles on

From settling dusk to rousing dawn

And the tired willow shudders in defeat

And the spritely brook runs around his old feet

But hold no sorrow for the willow

Nor animosity towards the wily brook below

For the willow is patient and pay no mind

As the little brook around the bend does wind

And disappears from the willow's failing sight

For in his wizened state

He has many hours to contemplate

The tales and stories of the stream

Of lands he cannot visit, but in a dream